


seven days

by seekwill



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, M/M, Needy Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/pseuds/seekwill
Summary: They needed their space, didn’t they? Humans did at any rate, those ones in relationships. They needed their own hobbies, interests. And Crowley loved the way Aziraphale loved things - his books, decadent food, immaculately tailored clothes. Crowley loved the way Aziraphale’s face lit up when he had described his new acquisition for the shop, like the sun resided behind his eyes. Aziraphale deserved time to enjoy, to savour it.But it had been a week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours and counting. Crowley felt every moment of it as if he were staring at the second hand on a clock face (he had done, briefly, before realizing he would drive himself mad if he kept at it). He knew that Aziraphale would ring him eventually, there was no question of that, but frankly he was getting bloody tired of waiting. HeneededAziraphale. He was starving, famished.





	seven days

**Author's Note:**

> From the tumblr prompt: "would adore a needy crowley trying to get az’s attention during like a movie night or something (does this result in crowley writhing in his angels lap? Up for you to decide dear author)"
> 
> It, uh, got out of hand. Thank you to my most wonderful beta [Mussimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussimm/pseuds/Mussimm) who wrangled this beast and made it so much better.

Time had never meant much to Crowley. What was it that humans said?  _ The days are long but the years are short. _ The days are all long for Crowley, and the days are all short. No, time was of entirely no consequence to Crowley until Aziraphale acquired his new book and disappeared into the recesses of his shop for a week to examine it.

“Won’t be long!” The angel had said cheerfully on the other end of the phone as he settled in. Crowley had wished him luck.  _ Won’t be long. _

What did “long” mean to two beings that had always just  _ been _ ? Crowley tried to have some perspective. In those first few weeks following the events in Tadfield, they hadn’t left the flat above the angel’s shop, had barely even left the hastily miracled bed. It hadn’t been enough. From the first moment Aziraphale had touched him, purposefully, in a way that had so clearly meant  _ I’m here and I want you _ , Crowley was finished. Kaput. Turned to mush.

Without him, Crowley was at ends. There was nothing else he could think of to occupy his time. He couldn’t sit still, his legs bouncing nervously, drumming his fingers on flat surfaces.

They needed their space, didn’t they? Humans did at any rate, those ones in relationships. They needed their own hobbies, interests. And Crowley loved the way Aziraphale loved things - his books, decadent food, immaculately tailored clothes. Crowley loved the way Aziraphale’s face lit up when he had described his new acquisition for the shop, like the sun resided behind his eyes. Aziraphale deserved time to enjoy, to savour it.

But it had been a week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours and counting. Crowley felt every moment of it as if he were staring at the second hand on a clock face (he had done, briefly, before realizing he would drive himself mad if he kept at it). He knew that Aziraphale would ring him eventually, there was no question of that, but frankly he was getting bloody tired of waiting. He _ needed _ Aziraphale. He was starving, famished.

He parked the Bentley quite illegally in front of the bookshop and sauntered in on a wave of bravado. When snakeskin shoes met the bookshop’s weathered hardwood floors, however, the wind promptly left his sails. Was this wrong? Was Crowley intruding on Aziraphale now? He took a tentative step towards the centre of the shop. 

_Clingy. _The word manifested in the forefront of his mind. _I’m clingy. _The word tasted like chalk on his tongue. Since the world began he had gone hundreds of years between his occasional rendezvous with Aziraphale. Now he couldn’t go seven measly days. Pathetic. _I’m a pathetic, clingy mess._

There was rustling from the back of the otherwise silent shop. Aziraphale. Crowley’s feet brought him forward with no regard to the doubts he was harbouring. He couldn’t help himself, not really. The need in him was embarrassing, sure, but now that he knew what he could have he was in constant craving of it.

Crowley rounded a bookshelf and there he was. Broad back clad in his ancient velvet waistcoat, bent over his antique desk, eyes glued to a thick leather-backed tomb. Aziraphale’s fingers delicately lifted one aged page and turned it with reverence. 

This simple gesture drew Crowley’s lips into a fond smile. Aziraphale was so careful. He had been so gentle at the start, so tentative. Soft hands with thick fingers ghosting over Crowley’s skin, tracing the lines of him.  _ Do you like this? May I? Can I? What do you want, my darling? Tell me what feels good. _

Fuck, he had missed him. “Angel?” He said, breaking the silence of the shop. His unsteady voice made him more exposed than he liked, as if he were completely bare of his dark uniform.

Aziraphale made a small sound of recognition but didn’t turn around, didn’t look for Crowley. 

“Hey. Aziraphale?” Crowley approached slowly. Was that… was there just the slightest layer of dust on his shoulder? Had he been sitting here all week? He placed his hand on Aziraphale’s arm, squeezed just a little. 

The angel leaned into the touch. His chest rose with a deep, unnecessary breath and he looked up to the demon at his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll be done in just a minute.”

A high pitched, involuntary whine escaped Crowley’s throat and unsettled the air between them. “I think you may be confused as to the length of a minute!”

They were so close now. It was impossible for Crowley to be next to Aziraphale without pressing their bodies together. It would be against all natural laws to resist. He gave into the impulse and slid between the desk and Aziraphale, sitting on his lap. He slung his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and buried his face there, inhaled the angel’s scent: lemon and petrichor and sunlight. (Dust too, at the moment. But that was circumstantial.)

“Oh, Crowley. What’s the matter?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, and (annoyingly) confused.

Crowley pulled back, the tip of his nose brushing Aziraphale’s, their silhouettes merging. “What’s the matter is you’ve been here by yourself for a sodding week.” He paused. “I’ve missed you.”

“A week? It can’t have been!” Aziraphale smiled but his brows stitched together in concern, as if Crowley was playing some sort of joke.

“It was,” Crowley muttered, pressing his forehead to the angel’s and nestling in his lap a little more. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley tightly, hands sliding underneath his fine leather jacket. His fingertips slotted into the hollows between Crowley’s ribs. This is what Crowley had been hungry for, this deliberate touch. He exhaled, shivered just a little at this taste of what he had wanted.

“My darling, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of myself.” He kissed the demon softly on the corner of his mouth, lingering, as if the time that had past had suddenly come to him and he was realizing how long he had gone without. He smiled hesitantly, “Can you forgive me?”

Crowley shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. Of course he would forgive him.

The angels lips drifted over Crowley’s ear, settled near his temple. “You know I love you, don’t you?” Aziraphale’s voice was husky, thick with something. Under Crowley, he spread his thighs, leading Crowley to sink deeper into his embrace. Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale’s soft shoulder.

_ I love you.  _ They had said it so many times now. After the dam had broke they had spent a full weekend saying little else. Just fucking, and touching, and  _ oh God, I love you _ . Every time he heard Aziraphale say it Crowley felt the very seams of his own self come undone. It was no different now. Crowley could feel himself melting into the angel, all the fight leaving him.

“I’m sorry, love,” Aziraphale whispered. He let his fingers circle the small bumps of Crowley’s spine, write poetry there. “What can I do to make it up to you?” 

The circuits in Crowley’s brain shorted.  _ What do you want? What do you need from me? _ Aziraphale had asked. Crowley’s tongue was leaden behind his teeth.

Vulnerability was not a demon’s strong suit. A proper demon wasn’t really supposed to have feelings. Just goals, mostly. Nefarious ones. Yet, in crossing paths with Aziraphale, he had been remade. Tender and open with the stink of need all over him. 

“Anything at all,” Aziraphale offered, lightly teasing the back of Crowley’s neck.

What _ did _ Crowley want, anyway? He tried to talk, to just say something and hope that it would be right, that his mouth would know what to say and his brain would catch up eventually. But all that emerged was a strangled little cough, muffled further by Aziraphale’s shoulder. There weren’t words in Crowley’s vocabulary to explain that what he wanted was to be, was to feel like, the very centre of Aziraphale’s universe for all time and eternity.

Aziraphale sighed. Not the exasperated kind of sigh like when he caught Crowley flinging insults at a fern, or when he parked the Bentley in front of a fire hydrant. It was a thoughtful sigh, as if he had found the answer to his question all on his own.

The angel brought one of his well manicured hands to Crowley’s face and drew him back, so their faces were just inches apart. “Let’s just,” he paused, removing Crowley’s sunglasses and placing them gently on the desk, “take those off. There. Let me see you.” 

Crowley blinked in the light, his pupils readjusting. This wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had taken off his glasses but it was always astonishing. Always an exclamation point.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale purred, his lips curling into a soft smile. “How about this - how about I take you upstairs and take care of you? Hmm? As long as you need.”

Crowley’s tongue was thick. Aziraphale’s voice had descended to an earthy darkness, and it made his cock twitch in his jeans. The words rattled around in his now empty head. 

_ Take care of you.  _

He nodded. He couldn’t trust his lips right now. Couldn’t trust himself to form any sentence that wouldn’t just be a long string of fervent pleading -  _ Yes take care of me I love you I don’t deserve you you are so good to me yes yes yes. _

With a decisive energy, Aziraphale slotted one arm under Crowley’s bent knees and wrapped the other tightly around the demon’s back. The chair pushed back with a screech against the hardwood floor, and Crowley made note to miracle away any scratch that resulted. In one smooth movement the angel stood, Crowley cradled in his arms, and walked towards the stairs in the back of the shop with purpose.

Crowley swallowed thickly. He knew Aziraphale was strong. He was an angel and all angels were strong. But being carried was an entirely different thing to witnessing feats of strength. Aziraphale carried Crowley effortlessly, like he weighed nothing, past bookshelves and up the staircase discreetly hidden past the place any customers would bother to explore.

He did feel weightless. The anxieties that had plagued him earlier in the day had dissipated. A lightness resided in his chest, in each of his limbs. He focused on the places where Aziraphale’s body met his - his mid back, under his thighs, that warm place where his side slotted against the angel’s chest.

“This feels a bit like,” Aziraphale started, laughter colouring the edges of his words. “Like I’m carrying you over the threshold.”

Crowley chuckled, the warmth of what lay between them spreading through him like syrup.

As Aziraphale reached the bedroom, their eyes met. There was heat there, softness too. Crowley abandoned his efforts to make his irises at all human, let the whites go serpentine gold. Aziraphale released the smallest whine, bit his bottom lip.

“You know, I love when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked, finding his words but just barely.

“Just so,” Aziraphale’s eyes traced a path from Crowley’s eyes to his lips. “Just so ready for me.”

Crowley choked as the heat between his legs threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his lips to the angel’s, and wound his fingers in white blond curls. Aziraphale’s tongue slipped past Crowley’s lips, teased the sharp edge of his teeth. Blood rushed in the demon’s ears and he squirmed in the arms that held him.

Aziraphale spread Crowley on the bed gently, not breaking the kiss. Aziraphale encouraged Crowley back onto the quilt, square fingers spread wide on Crowley’s chest, all the while tasting him, licking into his mouth. 

It was as if he had been dying of hunger, Crowley thought. Aziraphale’s touch was the meal meant to save him. His hands held Aziraphale’s face to his and Crowley keened into his mouth, marvelling how it could still feel so new and tenuous even as he had memorized it, even as he could sketch Aziraphale from memory. Each line on his face, each pore, the ridge of his nose and the curve of his beestung lower lip.

And so it was when Aziraphale pulled back that Crowley took deep offense. “No,” he pleaded, watching Aziraphale move to standing. 

He rose to meet him again, tried to pull him back down where he belonged, but Aziraphale placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. 

“I know, my love. But lie back, please, relax. Allow me to take care of things.”

Those words again, that turn of phrase. It made the resistance leave Crowley in an instant. He still itched under his too tight skin for Aziraphale to touch him, but he could let Aziraphale lead in this dance, tell Crowley what it was the demon really needed.

With a discreet snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley’s clothes were gone, miracled into a neatly folded pile on the chair in the corner. Crowley’s cock slapped obscenely onto his stomach and he whimpered. Colour rose in his cheeks. He was so obvious, his need so plain. It seemed laughable that he could have ever concealed or contained this, that he had done so for six thousand years. 

The expression that played on Aziraphale’s face volleyed between pain and bliss. He inhaled sharply and his fingers flexed. To Crowley’s vexation, Aziraphale restrained himself. “Angel?” He asked, voice cracking the word in two.

“Shush, my darling. I’m reminding myself of how exquisite you are, and how careless I’ve been with you.” He sunk to his knees. A small, heated moan passed his lips and hovered in the air between them. Crowley pushed himself up on his elbows, and from his vantage point watched Aziraphale’s eyes glaze over as they rested on the demon’s length.

He could have come then, honestly. He could have spilled wet and hot and messy all over his belly with Aziraphale looking at him like that. What was the word?  _ Ravenous. _ Like he wanted to make a meal of Crowley and after seven days without touch he had to strain to keep himself from finishing. 

Aziraphale turned his face into Crowley’s thigh, let the tip of his nose drag against the soft, sensitive skin there. He left gentle kisses, let his tongue dart from his mouth to taste Crowley’s skin. Crowley clenched his teeth and let his head fall back, a shiver running up his spine. Every one of his muscles contracted in anticipation. He couldn’t look at his angel. It was too much now. Crowley needed to choose: he could feel Aziraphale or he could see Aziraphale. Not both. Both would set him off and he wanted more of this. He wanted it to last forever.

Teeth. It was the most beautiful shock. Aziraphale had taken the firm flesh of Crowley’s thigh with his teeth and applied the barest pressure. No pain, just the suggestion of it, just the knowledge that Aziraphale had Crowley in the palm of his hands. Always had, since they had stood on that wall. This was naked, barely unspoken knowledge. 

He hummed with Crowley’s flesh between his teeth, and the vibrations travelled up Crowley’s leg, settled in the crease of his hip. “You’re delicious, darling,” he said, eyes darting up to Crowley’s lolling head, the curve of his neck. “Absolutely delectable.”

And with that he shifted Crowley’s thighs over his broad shoulders, pulled Crowley closer to him roughly, much more roughly than he ever had before, and took Crowley’s red, engorged prick into his mouth.

“Ahh- angel! Angel!” Crowley cried before dissolving into overlapping mewls and whines and near sobs. Aziraphale wasn’t usually so quick. He drew things out and savoured them. His hand reached out to clasp Aziraphale’s. Their fingers curled together, the angel pressing the demon’s fingers into his own skin as he pressed the head of Crowley’s cock into the back of his angelic throat.

He saw stars. That tight, wet heat of Aziraphale’s mouth making him writhe, his elbows give out. He collapsed back down on the bed. Crowley brought his free hand to his hair, pushed it back from his face, pulled it. It wasn’t the same when he did it.

The idea of Aziraphale. That was enough sometimes. These mundane actions that others could do took on brighter and more sublime qualities when Aziraphale did them. The angel’s fingers lightly stroking a wine glass stem made Crowley’s mouth water. Watching Aziraphale roll up his sleeves had nearly inspired Crowley to crawl across the floor to him, a dog at Aziraphale’s feet. The first time Aziraphale’s hands had buried themselves in Crowley’s hair, provided the barest suggestion of pulling, Crowley’s body had gone into a state of shock. Tremors and voice ringing out.

Aziraphale drew back, then took Crowley to the root again, burying his nose in a mess of red curls. Crowley choked out the angel’s name. His thighs trembled, and with the hand that wasn’t still clasped around Crowley’s fingers, Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s leg reassuringly.

With long, languorous strokes, Aziraphale’s tongue trailed the length of Crowley’s cock several times, teasing the lip of the head gently, exploring the slit. 

Crowley bit into the flesh of his own hand to keep from crying out, to keep from filling the room with his pleading, his admissions of love. When Aziraphale noticed this he reached up and grabbed onto Crowley’s elbow, pulled his arm down. Without him saying anything, Crowley knew it was Aziraphale’s way of telling him he was not to hold back. He was not to restrain himself or stay in control or anything of the sort. 

“Fuck,” Crowley groaned, and felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand encouragingly. “Angel, you make me… I feel… I want to come in your mouth.” He wanted to say more but he had no words to spare, not when he was on the edge like this. Aziraphale was better at it, could construct vivid scenes featuring every filthy thing he wanted to do to Crowley, what he wanted Crowley to do to him. Combined words in ways that set Crowley on fire. But Crowley lived in the moment, and what he wanted at present was nothing more than to release down Aziraphale’s throat, feel the angel swallow around him, take him all down.

Aziraphale hummed his consent, and Crowley retrieved his hands, pushed himself up so he could watch. He bucked his hips up slightly, fucking into Aziraphale’s mouth and the angel moaned like he was tasting something exquisite. The deep ache between Crowley’s legs bloomed into something frantic and rapidfire. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Aziraphale’s eyes opened to meet Crowley’s and there was a smile in them, something mischievious and lewd and  _ fuck fuck fuck _ he couldn’t take it.

“Yesss,” he hissed, serpentine tongue taking advantage of Crowley’s loss of control. “That’sssit, yesss. Fuck, fuck. My angel.” He came, hard, Aziraphale bearing down on him and taking it all. His legs contracted, his ankles pressing hard into Aziraphale’s back. 

Crowley’s arms were trembling, could barely hold him up.

When the pulsing of Crowley’s spent cock trailed off, when the beat of his heart slowed its runaway pace, Aziraphale released him, spitslick and tender against his own thigh. The angel’s lips glistened, the corner of his gorgeous mouth, his chin too. With spit and… oh.  _ Oh, fuck. _ A shot of something electric lit up in Crowley’s lower belly, a mild shock suggesting that he wasn’t done. Not yet.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale moaned, pink tongue darting out and tasting Crowley’s release. Crowley felt awash in another wave of lust, feared his eyes may roll back in his head and just stay there. Aziraphale gingerly removed himself from under Crowley’s thighs and leaned over the demon, stopping so there was less than an inch between their lips. “My darling,” he breathed into Crowley’s mouth, “you taste wonderful.” He kissed him, their lips the only thing connected now, and Crowley tasted himself on Aziraphale, tasted the want of himself as he licks into Aziraphale’s mouth.

There is a shift of fabric, some small effort. He knew without looking that Aziraphale was undoing his trousers, pulling himself out, rubbing his thick cock as hard as it could go. He drew back and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, honey gold into Tiffany blue. There’s a question mark there, an ask. Crowley nods and with a gasp he’s suddenly open, warm, ready. 

With the hand that had been stroking himself, Aziraphale hitched Crowley’s leg up and open, pressed his hand into the crook of Crowley’s knee. In one slow, reverent movement he sunk into Crowley to the hilt. “That’s it, my love, that’s it,” he murmured to himself more than Crowley. 

Crowley keened, his long fingers reaching up to grab onto Aziraphale’s shirt. His mind went blank of everything except the incredibly grounding sensation of Aziraphale inside of him, filling him up, making him feel relentlessly whole. Greedy for more, Crowley wrapped his legs around the angel, a desperate attempt to force Aziraphale deeper. He was hard again, raw and sensitive but ready.

Aziraphale quickened the pace of his thrusts and settled his weight into Crowley, took the demon’s hands in his and extended their arms up, entangled their fingers. He kissed Crowley’s sharp cheekbones, the bold line of his jaw. Each touch, each connection felt like nourishment.

In his ear Aziraphale whispered the things he had held on to for hundreds of years, the things that had lived inside him before he even knew they had a home there.

_ I love you. In all of existence there has been no other creature that I have ever wanted, that has been worth wanting in the way that I want you. Always, all the time. I love you, my darling boy. Perfect vision. My most holy thing. I love you. _

Crowley choked, squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Fuck,” Aziraphale cried into the quilt. “Oh, God, Crowley, I’m so close.”

“Please,” Crowley begged. “Please, angel, please please please -”  _ Consume me, _ he thinks.  _ Take me whole. _

Aziraphale came with a ragged sob, his hips jerking in an uneven pattern. Crowley released again between them, spurred by the wavering of Aziraphale’s voice, the scent of him, his words, his very existing. 

“I love you,” Crowley said, breathless and satiated. Aziraphale released his hands and Crowley wrapped them around his angel, one firmly across the expanse of his back, the other buried in white curls, frizzed with sweat and labour. “I love you so much. It’s embarrassing. I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re not around.”

“I’ve been bad to you,” Aziraphale mumbled into Crowley’s neck.

“No, no no no.” Crowley insisted, bringing Aziraphale’s face in front of him.

Aziraphale’s face was tired and lovesick all at once. “I know I’ve been, my love. And it won’t happen again. No more disappearing act. Forgive me?”

Crowley’s response was immediate this time. “Yeah, angel. I forgive you.” As if there was ever a question. He kissed Aziraphale lightly, with all the tenderness he can muster. “Love you,” he murmured.

Their foreheads touch, they both exhale.

_ Love you so, my only heart. _

They have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on tumblr, [here (personal)](https://bestoftheseekwill.tumblr.com/) or [here (GO dump side-blog)](https://jasmine-cottage-uk.tumblr.com/).


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